


The Strength To Try

by Lord_Vaders_Slave_Girl



Category: Phantom of the Opera (2004)
Genre: Also real family. It's complicated., But I put my own spin on it, Enemies to Friends, Erik and Raoul need hugs, Found Family, Friendship, Gen, Getting to Know Each Other, Making Friends, Sad, Small references to Leroux, Some plot elements inspired by someone else's fic, They actually stopped hating each other ages ago, They just haven't spoken since Don Juan
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2020-10-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:49:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26325910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lord_Vaders_Slave_Girl/pseuds/Lord_Vaders_Slave_Girl
Summary: Both of them wished they could hear her voice again. Both knew that they never would. And now each knew that the other shared his grief. Perhaps it was time to let the past die.





	1. At the Cemetery

**Author's Note:**

> I watched Phantom Of The Opera again after reading a bunch of POTO fanfic, and this happened. Hope y'all like it.

Having stopped a few paces away from Christine's grave, the chauffeur and the nurse moved to assist her husband in rising from the wheelchair. Raoul waved them back. He could do this by himself. He needed to do this by himself. Pushing himself to his feet, he shuffled forward and stooped to set the music box lovingly at the base of the headstone.

It wasn't until he straightened and began turning to leave that he saw it. The rose lay blood red against the white marble, a diamond ring tied to its stem with a black ribbon. There was no doubt who had left it. And it was fresh, the edges of its petals not yet darkened by the cold marble and chill air. Could he still be here? Raoul's gaze was drawn to the Daaé mausoleum, and he noted that the doors seemed to swing slightly ajar. A part of his mind wondered idly if perhaps he shouldn't be frightened, knowing that the Phantom was only a stone's throw away. But in truth it was rather a comfort, to know for a certainty that the pain of missing his beloved Christine was not one he bore alone.

Still gazing at the mausoleum as he shuffled back to the wheelchair, he found himself singing softly, almost under his breath, " _Angel of Music, I forgive you. Know you don't grieve alone._ "


	2. The Visitor

_"Angel of Music, I forgive you. Know you don't grieve alone."_

  


The softly sung phrases came drifting to him so thinly on the wind, he might almost have believed he'd imagined them, had his sharp eyes not seen the movement of Raoul's lips as they formed the words. He recognized it for what it was: a subtle expression of a desire to make amends. Even still, summoning the courage to pay a social call on the man who once would have gladly killed him required several days. When he did muster the courage to go, he was determined that whatever anxiety he may feel about the matter, he would not allow it to show.

  


««««««««««o»»»»»»»»»»

  


It was early morning - just sunrise, in fact - when Raoul's butler approached him at the piano. "Pardon the interruption, Your Grace, but there is a gentleman to see you." He presented a calling card. "A Monsieur Erik Destler. He says he's an old acquaintance."

  


Raoul accepted the card, studying it closely. It was simple, a white card bordered by a narrow black line which was broken by a treble clef in the lower left corner, with the name handwritten across its face in dark red ink. "Destler..." He mused, "I don't recall ever knowing anyone by that name, but the writing seems familiar. Show him in, please, Pierre." He pocketed the card and turned back to the piano. He neither heard not saw his visitor enter the room, but it didn't matter. The man had a presence which was unmistakable. "Monsieur Destler, I presume?"

  


"Just so, Monsieur Le Comte." The Phantom's rich, powerful tenor, unchanged by the years, only reinforced his imposing presence. There were a few moments of awkward silence, filled only by the piano. Erik was the first to speak again. "That piece is by Beethoven, is it not?"

  


"It is. Fur Elise."

  


"You play it beautifully."

  


"How very kind of you to say so. Lacking such large stores of natural talent as you possess, my skills are only moderate, I'm afraid, and hard-won through much practice."

  


"It is an abundance of practice which results in the acquisition of great skill, just as much as the possession of much talent, if not more so."

  


"It would seem that must be so, or else I'm sure I should never had gotten quite this good."

  


"Until today, I was unaware that you played at all."

  


"To be quite frank, I don't believe you ever asked."

  


"No, I did not."

  


Another awkward pause ensued, as the last notes of Fur Elise faded away, and another tune began.

  


"Well, Monsieur Destler --" Raoul was cut off abruptly.

  


"Erik. Please."

  


"Very well, Erik. I suppose we have much to talk about, so perhaps you had best make yourself comfortable." Raoul nodded to a nearby chair.

  


Removing his cloak with a flourish and draping it over the back of the chair, Erik sat down. "Thank you."

  


A corner of Raoul's mouth quirked up in amusement. "You really haven't changed that much, have you? Still tiptoeing about like a cat and swishing that cape around."

  


"Yes, I admit that I do still have quite the flair for the dramatic. You know what they say about old habits. But on the other hand, I have learned much better control of my temper since we last met."

  


"I think that we have both gained better control of our tempers. After all, we have been conversing for almost five minutes and have yet to yell at one another."

  


Just then, both men found themselves looking toward the door, as another imposing presence made itself felt. Erik thought of the masquerade ball so long ago. He had entered the ballroom silently, making no sound until he began to speak, yet all eyes had instantly turned to him the moment he arrived. The (comparatively) young man who now swept into the room had just such a tangible presence, but with an undercurrent of pure _joie de vivre_ that Erik could only envy, never having known it himself. That _joie de vivre_ was emphasized by the young man's cheerful, "Good morning, Papa.", to which Raoul replied with a smile, "It is, isn't it?"

  


The young man began to turn away, but stopped when Raoul continued speaking to him. "Oh, Gustave, there is someone here whom I would like you to meet. This is Monsieur Erik Destler, an old acquaintance from the days of my youth."

  


Gustave greeted Erik with a firm handshake and a smile which somehow seemed to suggest that he knew more than he was saying. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Monsieur."

  


Unsure quite what to think, Erik simply replied with a polite, "Likewise, I'm sure."

  


Gustave nodded. "And now, if you gentlemen will pardon me, I have a project to work on." Crossing the room to a small organ set against the wall, he sat down at it and, after arranging some papers on the music rack, began to play.


End file.
